


Twenty Questions

by shadowofrazia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Modern Era, side Merlin/Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowofrazia/pseuds/shadowofrazia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Morgana came to Mordred asking him to pretend to be her boyfriend for Uther's birthday celebration, Mordred agreed. However, if he was going to go along with this ridiculous plan, he figured they'd have to learn a bit more about each other first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Merlin_Writers Theme Challenge on LJ.  
>  **Prompt:** _"I think the only way this is going to work, is if we play twenty questions."_
> 
> And thank you to wanderlust48 on LJ for betaing!

Mordred was studying for an exam when Morgana slid into the seat opposite his. He didn’t look up, simply focused on the line he’d been copying down. Morgana cleared her throat softly, and then a few seconds later, kicked Mordred firmly in the shin.

“Ow, _shit._ ” Mordred reached down to rub at shin. “What was that for?” He’d get a bruise, he knew it; Morgana had a penchant for pointy shoes.

When he looked up, Morgana was glaring. Realising she’d finally gained his attention, Morgana carefully smoothed her expression into a smile.

“What are you doing this weekend?” she asked.

“Staying here, probably,” said Mordred, shrugging. “As I usually do.”

There was something in Morgana’s smile that made Mordred the slightest bit wary. He’d seen that smile turned on many an unsuspecting person, and usually it’d been followed by something outrageous. He knew better than to feel safe when that smile was nearby.

“I take it I’m _not_ staying here this weekend.” It wasn’t a question. Mordred began packing up his things. He could already tell this was going to take up a significant amount of his time.

When they got outside, Morgana looped her arm through Mordred’s and allowed him to lead the way back to his dorm. He was sharing this term, and Morgana had convinced Mordred’s roommate very early on that she was dangerous. As a result, the room was deserted when they arrived.

“What’s going on?” asked Mordred immediately, dropping his bag somewhere near his desk before sinking into the uncomfortable wood chair.

Morgana sat on Mordred’s bed, but not before brushing some imaginary lint from his duvet. She was stalling, and Mordred wondered just how important this was.

“Uther’s birthday is Sunday,” Morgana said with all the gravity of a person announcing they had some incredibly severe illness.

“And you don’t know what to get him?”       

“Don’t be stupid.” Morgana waved her hand dismissively. “Of course I know what to get him. I’ve got him the same thing every year. He’s partial to ties and expensive alcohol. No, it’s much worse.”

“I’m not sure I understand what the problem is, exactly.” He frowned. It wasn’t like Morgana to be vague unless she wasn’t sure she was going to get her way.

She was even wringing her hands.

“Uther thinks we’re dating.”

“Uther thinks…” Mordred paused, trying to figure out if this was all a very elaborate acting exercise on Morgana’s part. “He thinks _what_?”

Morgana gathered her hair in her hands and nervously began braiding it as she spoke.

“He was asking if I was coming up to visit this weekend, and I said of course, it’s a tradition. Then he asked how uni was going and I rattled off something vague about how _fulfilling_ my lectures have been. And all of the sudden, he asked if I’d met anyone—he’s been strangely curious since Arthur met his boyfriend—and I just said yes without thinking, and then I just _kept talking_.” Morgana quickly undid her hair as she finished speaking. “He asked if you were coming because he’d like to meet you, and I said of course you were coming, so now I have to bring a boy home.”

“Wow,” said Mordred.

“I know,” Morgana groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“You told… _wow_.”

“I know! I don’t know what came over me. Usually, I’m alright lying to him, but this time, I started and I just couldn’t stop.” She peeked at him through her fingers. “So will you do it?”

Mordred looked up at the ceiling. His aunt had always told him to help others, but he wasn’t sure if this would be exactly what she had in mind. Still, a weekend with the Pendragons would be a story, and the food would probably be good. Anyway, it wasn’t like pretending to date Morgana would be _awful._ It wasn’t as if he’d never thought about it.

“Okay.”

Morgana looked up, a relieved gleam in her eye. “Okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll do it.”

Briefly, Mordred wondered if this was what it was like making a deal with the devil.

~*~

Friday morning, Mordred found himself in the passenger seat of Morgana’s car. Morgana, on the other hand, stood outside, pacing as she talked to someone on the phone. _It’s too early,_ thought Mordred as he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and hoped Morgana would let him sleep for part of the drive.

The door slammed shut, but Mordred didn’t open his eyes until he felt the car leaving the car park. Morgana had her glasses on (she’d never admit it in public, but Mordred had found out how bad her eyesight was following a particularly hilarious situation involving a forgotten pair of contacts) and her hair was in a surprisingly messy bun. He’d almost expected her to show up dressed to the nines. Morgana glanced over at him, grimacing.

“We’ll stop for coffee first,” she said.

“Good.” Mordred closed his eyes again.

One large cup of coffee and a short nap later, Mordred felt a bit more like himself. He fiddled with the radio, much to Morgana’s annoyance, and asked, “So how big is our audience this weekend?”

Morgana gave him a stern glare. “Uther, Arthur, and Arthur’s boyfriend.”

“Are they the sort of people to ask questions?” he asked. “My aunt always likes to know weird little things about people when she meets them.”

“Uther’s not like that,” said Morgana. “Arthur likes to know things about people, but he’s not one to ask.”

“Well,” began Mordred, finally settling on a quiet station, “I’m one to ask.” He turned to face Morgana and very cheerfully said, “We should play Twenty Questions.”

The look of shock Morgana sent his way was comical. “ _What?_ ”

“Twenty Questions,” repeated Mordred. “You know, things like ‘what’s your favourite colour?’ and ‘most embarrassing moment.’”

“I’m not telling you my most embarrassing moment,” Morgana snapped. 

“My favourite colour, for the record, is blue,” Mordred said loudly, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I like the way it sounds, _blue_.” He dragged out the middle vowel, even as Morgana laughed. “It kind of just rolls off the tongue, you know?”

“You’re ridiculous.” She coughed, took a sip of her water, and then said, “Green is my favourite. Emerald, if you want to be specific.”

“See? I didn’t know that. We’re learning more about each other already.” He grinned. “Your turn.”

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, Morgana gave a pained sigh as she thought of a question. “Favourite animal as a child.”

“Birds,” said Mordred immediately. “The big ones, like eagles and falcons. I think it was started by a series about owls I read and just went from there. You?”

“I liked dragonflies. I had them on jewellery and clothes, and books on them. I think I drove Arthur and Uther insane.”

“Dragonflies are insects.”

“Don’t split hairs, Mordred.”

Over the next hour, Mordred learned Morgana’s least favourite food (bananas); best memory (the time she and Arthur tried to bake a cake and ended up destroying the kitchen instead); and first certificate or trophy she’d ever received (“Football. It was even better because Arthur didn’t get one”). Morgana in turn learned Mordred’s favourite holiday (Halloween); favourite instrument (marimba, which earns him a Look); and favourite word (surreptitious).

“What’s something you order every time you go out to eat,” asked Mordred, opening a packet of pretzels. “And why, I guess.”

“ _I guess,_ ” Morgana repeated, rolling her eyes. “I don’t do it anymore, because Arthur likes to take the piss, but I always used to order the apple-raspberry flavour of J2O. I liked the colour.”

Mordred laughed, surprised. “You don’t strike me as a person who’d enjoy sugary pink drinks.”

“If you’re going to be as bad about this as Arthur was, I will leave you on the side of the road.”

“No! No, I’ll behave,” Mordred said quickly. “I promise.”

“So what about you?” asked Morgana, holding out her hand for some pretzels.

“Hot chocolate with whipped cream,” responded Mordred immediately. “Aunt Cara doesn’t like the dairy industry, or the meat industry…or cars, so she doesn’t buy milk. When we’d go out to eat, she’d let me order a hot cocoa with whipped cream every time.”

“That’s very sweet,” said Morgana. Mordred couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic, so he settled for a shrug.

*

The road leading to Morgana’s house was lined with what Morgana explained were crab apple trees.

“Arthur and I used to throw them at each other. Once, he hit me in the eye and it was bruised for _ages_ ; Uther was furious.”

The closer they got to the house, the more nervous Mordred got. He ran his hands over his denims so many times that Morgana reached over and grabbed his hand.

“It’ll be alright,” she said.

Mordred wasn’t sure if she was reassuring him or herself.

“Oh, Arthur’s not here yet. That means we get Uther to ourselves for a few hours.”  

“Wonderful.”

To Mordred’s surprise, Uther was the one who answered the door. He’d expected butlers or…guards. But no, Uther answered in a dark red jumper, and immediately pulled Morgana into a hug. He then stood back to usher them through the doorway, smiling welcomingly all the while.

Mordred was confused.

“And this must be Mordred,” said Uther, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Hastily setting his and Morgana’s bags down, Mordred shook Uther’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Pendragon.”

Morgana snorted, and it took everything Mordred had _not_ to send her a dirty look over Uther’s shoulder.

“I was surprised when Morgana said you were coming. She rarely brings people home wither her.”

Quietly, Morgana cleared her throat. Uther smiled, and maybe it was Mordred’s nerves, but that smile seemed just a tad vicious, like something he’d see just before being murdered or fed to a shark.  

“Ah, yes,” said Uther slowly. “Of course, that’s another matter for another day. You’ll both be up in Morgana’s room. I’m sure she’ll be able to show you the way.” Uther turned. “If you find yourself in need of anything, I’ll be in my study.”

At least Morgana was nice enough to wait until Uther was out of the room to laugh and say, “Try not to look so terrified the next time you have to talk to him.”

Mordred made her carry her own things up the stairs.

When Mordred saw Morgana’s clean, spacious room, he grinned. “You weren’t joking about the green, were you?”

Surprisingly, Morgana flushed. “Everything I told you today was the truth.”

“I didn’t doubt you.” Mordred smiled reassuringly and moved further into the room. “It’s nice,” he said. “It’s you.”

“Do you want the tour?” asked Morgana. She reached up and undid the messy ponytail she’d been sporting.

“Yeah, sure,” Mordred said with a shrug. “That’d be great.”  

The Pendragon home was quite a bit smaller than Mordred expected. That’s not to say it wasn’t large; Mordred was pretty sure he could fit two of his bedrooms in their dining room alone. As Morgana led him through each room, he felt smaller and smaller, wondering why anyone would want to live in such a big house on their own.

“You grew up here?” he asked quietly later. They were outside, wandering through the orchard. (He wanted to ask about that, because _of course_ the Pendragons would have a bloody _orchard_ instead of a back garden like everyone else.)

“Not here, no. We actually had a place in town.” Morgana twisted an apple from its stem and held it out to Mordred. “Uther and my mum bought this place after Arthur and I moved out.”

“So your father grows apples now?” Mordred took a bite of the apple, wiping his mouth when apple juice ran down his chin. “They’re good,” he said around the mouthful.

“Technically, we don’t own the orchard. Our neighbours, a lovely old couple, let us come and go as we please.” Morgana paused, hand inches away from an apple she’d been eyeing. She turned. “We should kiss,” she said so seriously that, for a moment, Mordred thought she was joking.

“Kiss?” he repeated.

“We haven’t yet. That’s weird, considering we’re together.”

Mordred didn’t want to be the one to mention that they weren’t _actually_ dating, so he settled for saying, “We have kissed.”

“A drunken peck doesn’t mean a thing.”

 _It was a bit more than a peck,_ thought Mordred.  “Alright.”

“You’re sure?” asked Morgana, even as she stepped carefully into his space.

“Morgana, I haven’t been sure of anything since I agreed to this insanity.”

Morgana’s lips were warm and soft against Mordred’s as she moved to rest her hand between Mordred’s shoulder blades. A moment later, Mordred pulled away, laughing.

“This is serious!” Morgana said indignantly, though she was clearly fighting a laugh as well. She straightened, licking her lips. “Let’s go again.”

This time, Mordred relaxed. Part of him still wanted to laugh, but another part of him rather liked it. He could certainly think of quite a few people who wouldn’t mind being in his place.

“You’re blushing, Mordred.” Morgana grinned when they pulled apart. Her arms remained looped around his neck, preventing him from stepping away.

“It’s cold,” he muttered. He could feel the heat in his cheeks. “Do you want to keep practicing, or shall we head inside?”

Morgana kissed him again, and the apple lay forgotten in the grass.

*

They had a quiet dinner with Uther. Arthur and Merlin were still on their way when it came time for dinner, so Uther had all the time in the world to direct his attention on Mordred.

And Mordred was trying to sneakily remove the tomatoes from his pasta without being rude. Across from him, Morgana smirked, amused; she knew how much he hated tomatoes.

“So, Mordred, Morgana tells me you’re in your second year at university,” said Uther over his glass of wine. It was red, and a ridiculous part of Mordred’s mind imagined it as blood. He fought off a shiver as he responded.

“Yes, sir. I’m studying physics.”

Uther looked vaguely impressed. “Physics. I suppose you’ve a mind for numbers, then?”

“He checks my math when I do my budgeting,” Morgana said proudly.

“Only because you’re nice enough to check my grammar before I ever hand anything in.” Mordred moved the tomatoes to the edge of his plate and took a bite. For a while, the three ate in silence.

Morgana pushed her food around her plate, and then very quietly asked, “So mum couldn’t make it back?”

“She said she couldn’t get away. Something important came up, she said.” Uther took a long sip of his wine. “She should be able to make it back for Christmas.”

“Right,” muttered Morgana. “Just like last year.”

Mordred grimaced sympathetically. He’d wondered why Morgana had been in such a sour mood after their winter holidays the year before; he’d just never thought to ask. He’d figured if she wanted him to know, she’d have told him. Judging by the way Uther was scowling, it was a touchy subject for him as well.

“This meal is fantastic, Mr. Pendragon,” Mordred said quickly.

“Good to hear,” Uther murmured. “I was worried, considering you’ve taken the time to pile the diced tomatoes on the edge of your plate.”

Morgana laughed, too loud and too sudden for it to be faked.

“I’m sorry,” said Mordred, trying very hard not to mumble through his embarrassment. “I—“ he cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to be rude, but I’ve never been too fond of tomatoes.”

“That’s the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard,” laughed Morgana.

“Had I known, I would have kept them out of the dish,” said Uther, scowling slightly at Morgana. “My apologies, Mordred.”

“It’s really no problem. I’m used to it.” Mordred chuckled. Morgana tilted her head slightly with curiosity, but with a small, private smile, she neatly changed the subject.

*

Mordred went up to use the loo and came back down to see two extra people sitting in the living room.

“Nice of you to join us, Mordred,” said Morgana cheerfully, looking over the back of the couch. Mordred gave an awkward wave.

“Wait, _Mordred_?” said a vaguely familiar voice. Mordred looked over Morgana’s shoulder at the man sitting in the armchair and blinked.

“Oh, you’re that Merlin.”

Merlin grinned, standing and walking over to pull Mordred into a tight hug.

“My god, you’re much taller than the last time I saw you.”

Awkwardly patting Merlin’s back, Mordred laughed. “Yeah, eight years will do that to a person.” He pulled away and rubbed his hands against his trousers. “You look, uh, healthy.”

Merlin reached up and ran a hand through his hair, making it messier than it’d been before. He was still wearing his scarf—red, just like he’d always worn—and Mordred could see Arthur’s coat draped over the back of the couch.

“Er,” said Arthur quietly. “Would either of you like to explain what’s going on?”

“Oh, right!” Merlin gave a little jump and turned around, hand gently gripping Mordred’s arm. “This is my cousin. We’ve not seen each other since—“ He broke off, glancing at Mordred. “Well, it’s been a very long time.”

“That’s too bad,” Arthur said, leaning over the back of the couch and holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mordred.”

The similarities between Arthur and his father would be funny if Mordred weren’t so shocked. Morgana seemed to know what he was thinking, because a moment later, she stood.

“Come on, Arthur. I’ve something to show you in the other room.”

Arthur looked momentarily looked confused, then nodded. “Right! Yes, the other room. It was great meeting you Mordred,” he said. He grasped Merlin’s hand momentarily as he passed and followed Morgana from the room.

“How are you doing?” asked Merlin quietly. He and Mordred were sitting across from each other on the couch. Mordred, with his knees pressed against his chest, felt younger than he had in years. They both tried to speak casually, but it was difficult not to remember that the last time they’d seen each other was at Mordred’s parents’ funeral.

“Alright, I suppose. I’ve been busy with uni.” Mordred shrugged.

“Not too busy to get yourself a girlfriend,” Merlin teased. “Morgana said you’ve been together for a few months now.”  

“And what about you and Arthur? From what I hear, you waited a good six weeks into uni before you two started dating.”

Merlin laughed and shifted, copying Mordred’s posture and pulling at the blanket draped over the back of the couch. His expression grew serious. “I should have visited you…called, at least. You just looked so small at the funeral; I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“It wasn’t up to you to fix it,” snapped Mordred. He looked over at the fireplace. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be angry at you. I must be getting tired. It’s nice to see you again, Merlin, but I think we’d be better off having this conversation when we’ve both had a bit more sleep.”

“Oh, yes, I’m completely knackered.” Merlin stood, knees popping. He grimaced. “I swear my body gets noisier every year. Goodnight, Mordred. See you in the morning.” Merlin left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

*

Mordred walked slowly up the stairs. The lights in the room were off, and when he turned them on, he saw the room was empty. He dug through his things until he found his pyjamas, and then went for a shower.

Turning on the shower was simple enough, though the faucet was more complicated than any faucet had any right to be. Mordred set his things by the sink and stepped into the spray of warm water. He leaned his head back against the wall of the shower and closed his eyes.

It’d been a very, very long day and he could already tell it was going to be a very difficult weekend. He swore quietly to himself and figured he should probably work on washing his hair.

The door was closed when Mordred made it back to the room. He knocked quietly.

“May I come in?” he asked, poking his head into the room. He saw the pale skin of Morgana’s back and hurriedly stepped inside, closing the door quietly.

“Did everything go well with Merlin?” she asked, turning as she tugged down her shirt. Mordred blinked, and then stepped around her to reach his bag.

“Well enough,” he said. “It was weird; I haven’t seen him since my parents’ funeral. Seeing him here…I don’t know. It’s strange.” He shoved his folded clothes into his bag. “I didn’t think I’d see him anytime soon.”

“If I’d known, I would have told you,” said Morgana quietly. She walked over to the bed and climbed beneath the covers. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you into rekindling your relationship with your cousin or anything.”

“You were just trying to manipulate me into pretending to be your boyfriend,” Mordred joked. He shut off the light and got into bed beside Morgana. “Which isn’t terrible, even if I’m a bit frightened of your stepfather.”

Morgana laughed quietly, rolling over so her back was to Mordred. “Wow, you really know how to flatter a girl.”

“I try,” said Mordred, and he threw his arm over Morgana’s waist and pretended he didn’t feel her link her fingers with his.  

~*~

Usually, explained Morgana the next day, they went out for Uther’s birthday. He was partial to walks and a small café in town. Today, however, it was raining, and Uther hated walking in the rain, so they stayed in and insisting Uther relax, the four of them decided to make him a meal themselves.

“This is a terrible idea,” said Merlin. He and Mordred were sat at the high kitchen counter, watching Morgana and Arthur go through cookbooks and cupboards.

“It is not!” Arthur pointed a wooden spoon in Merlin’s direction. “Morgana and I have cooked together before.”

“I’ve heard that story,” said Mordred, laughing. “And for some reason, it’s not boosting my confidence.”

“Hush, Mordred,” Morgana said shortly, looking terribly disgruntled when the other three only laughed. She set a cookbook and a pen in front of Mordred. “Make yourself useful and convert these numbers into something easier to read.”

This, at least, was familiar.

“So how did you and Morgana meet?” asked Merlin, watching as Mordred scrawled numbers into the margins of the recipe.

“Uh,” he glanced up, waited for Morgana to nod before going on. “We met outside of a party after my first week of uni. My roommate dragged me to it, and I wasn’t having fun, so I was outside—“

“Smoking,” added Morgana.

Mordred rolled his eyes. “Yes, _smoking_.” He grimaced over at Merlin. “Aunt Cara smelled it on me over Christmas and nearly killed me, so I quit.”

“My mother would have killed you,” Merlin said.

“Yes, well, they are sisters,” Mordred replied. “Anyway, Morgana walked outside and talked to me a bit and then she took me inside and made me a drink. The next morning, we went out for breakfast, and after that we kind of…kept running into each other.”

He left out the bit about how they’d fallen asleep in someone’s bedroom after drinking too much, and how Mordred had woken up the following morning with Morgana draped over his chest, a terrible taste in his mouth, and the smell of Morgana’s shampoo in the air.

Mordred looked up from the book to find Morgana smiling at him. It was a strange smile, one he’d never seen before, and Mordred couldn’t help but look away. He cleared his throat. “I, um, I’ve finished this. Excuse me.”

Twenty minutes later, Merlin found Mordred sat at the top of the stairs. He sat quietly beside him and, without looking over said, “You two aren’t really dating, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Merlin laughed. “Not at all, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so freaked out to realise their girlfriend loves them.”

“She doesn’t,” said Mordred quietly. “We’re only friends. We’re very good friends, but nothing more than that. Morgana doesn’t want it to be anything more.”

“Yes, well.” Merlin shrugged. “I think you’ve got yourselves fooled.”

“You know, we’re not really close enough anymore for you to be giving me relationship advice.”

“Figured as much,” Merlin said. “But I’m going to give it to you anyway.”

Mordred scoffed. “Figured as much.”

“After all this is over, you should date her. I don’t think she’d be too opposed to the idea.” Merlin stood. “Actually, I think she’d be pleased. Come downstairs when you’re ready, yeah?”

Mordred watched him walk down the stairs and, after a few minutes, followed.

*

The rest of the night seemed uneventful in comparison. They ate the food Arthur and Morgana had made—it was surprisingly good, considering they’d spent most of the afternoon bickering—and gave Uther his gifts. Mordred pretended not to notice the way Merlin’s eyes flitted suggestively between him and Morgana.

“Favourite number,” said Morgana.

Mordred looked down at her where her head was resting against his thigh. They were all crowded into the living room with Arthur and Uther, who were in the middle of what appeared to be a very intense game of chess. The others had decided to leave them to it.

“Are we still playing?” he asked.

“We’re always playing.” Morgana set her book on her stomach. “I figured you’d have loads of favourite numbers, being the math genius that you are.”

“I like 27,” he said. “I’ve never been sure why. And I’m not a math genius.”

“And I’m not a Pendragon,” muttered Morgana. They sat together quietly, listening to the sound of Arthur and Uther’s conversation over their game. Mordred sighed, adjusting his position in an attempt to keep his textbook from hitting Morgana in the face.

“What article of clothing do you find yourself wearing the most often?”

“That one doesn’t even make sense!” 

Mordred idly turned a page. “We’ve been playing this for twenty-four hours. I’m running out of things to ask. At least I didn’t ask you your favourite number.”

“Don’t be a tosser.” Morgana smacked Mordred’s chest with the back of her hand. “I don’t know…I have my…I have an old sweater that I stole from my father’s closet just after he died.” Morgana practically whispered her answer, and Mordred realised he’d probably gone too far.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “We probably should have allowed passes in this game.”

“Probably,” she responded. When Mordred looked away, Morgana sat up and placed a hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s alright. You know me better than to think a silly game could make me answer a question I didn’t want to answer.”

“I know,” said Mordred. He closed his book and forced a yawn. “I’m getting tired. I think I’m going to head upstairs for the night.” He stood, gathered his things, and turned to Uther. “Happy birthday, Mr. Pendragon. Have a good night, everyone.”

It was over an hour before Morgana made her way upstairs. Mordred had been lying in bed, reading a book he’d found on Morgana’s bookshelf. It wasn’t very good, and if he were in a better mood, he’d tease her about it.

“You’re brooding,” said Morgana.

“Hm.” Mordred didn’t look up.

“I brought you something.” Mordred felt the mattress depress as Morgana sat down. He smelled chocolate, and that more than anything made him look over.

“You brought me hot cocoa,” he said, amused as he took the warm mug from her hands.

“Like I said, you’re brooding.” Morgana grinned and slid off the bed. “I even made it with milk, though water would have been the slightest bit better for you.”

Mordred watched as Morgana walked over to her suitcase. She dug through it, searching for her pyjamas. He sipped his drink slowly, wondering if every one of their biggest moments was going to revolve around drinks, and watched idly as Morgana began to change. She looked over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. Mordred averted his eyes.

“This is really good,” he mumbled, sipping the hot cocoa even though it burned his lips.

“It’s really difficult to make a cup of hot cocoa properly,” said Morgana only a little sarcastically. She braided her hair and, tying it off with a rubber band, she laid on the bed beside Mordred. “Are you really so upset to be here?” she asked quietly after a moment.

Mordred sighed, took another sip. “No,” he said, “Not at all.”

“You’ve looked miserable all day. I don’t think I’ve seen you this miserable since you failed your first exam.”

“I didn’t fail! It was—“ Mordred broke off, flushing when he saw the way Morgana was grinning. “Shut up,” he muttered. “I’m not miserable. I’m just…Merlin knows we’re not really dating, but he thinks we should be.”

“Do you think we should?” asked Morgana quietly.

He leaned over, set the mug on the bedside table, and said, “Why did you ask me to do this, Morgana?”

Morgana sighed heavily and turned over so she was lying on her back. Speaking to the ceiling, she said, “I knew you wouldn’t say no, for one. And I knew I could trust you. Asking you also meant acting would be minimal; I think half the people at uni think we’re a couple, and the other half figure it’s only a matter of time before we are.”

Mordred frowned. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was a reason people tended to leave him and Morgana alone when they were together at parties, and he knew there was a reason his roommate had stopped asking Morgana out after their first semester. What he didn’t know was whether or not Morgana thought they were meant to be a couple, or if she was just having fun watching him squirm.

“Is it ‘only a matter of time?’” asked Mordred. He realised he was rubbing his hands over the flannel of his pyjama bottoms and moved to fiddle with the book he’d been reading earlier. “I mean, do you want it to be?”

“It wouldn’t be terrible.” Morgana waited for Mordred to stop laughing at that statement before adding, “This has much to do with you as it does with me. What do you want, Mordred?”

“I liked kissing you,” said Mordred to the duvet. “I wouldn’t mind being able to do that all the time.”

Laughing quietly, Morgana sat up and faced Mordred. “You’re very sweet,” she said and then she leaned in slowly and kissed him.

~*~

If Merlin didn’t stop looking so smug, Mordred was going to hit him.

“So I take it you and Morgana had a chat?” he said quietly while Morgana said goodbye to her family. Mordred tried to look annoyed, but couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his face.

“A small chat, yeah.” His smile faded a bit, and he said, “Look, I know it’s been a while since we last spent time together, and I know I was a bit of a prat the other night, but it really was nice to see you.”

“You too,” said Merlin. They stood awkwardly for a moment before Merlin said, “Oh fuck it,” and tightly hugged Mordred. He pulled away, smiling. “It’ll be nice to have someone here for Christmas who isn’t a Pendragon.”

“Oh, Merlin, stop being so dramatic. It’s not all bad.” Morgana rested a hand on Mordred’s back. “Ready to go?” she asked.

“Whenever you are.”

Their drive home was quiet. Mordred worked on coursework, occasionally handing Morgana jellybeans as she drove. The radio played quietly in the background, and under threat of losing his hand—or worse—Mordred didn’t change the station.

“Why did you want to play Twenty Questions?” asked Morgana suddenly.

“Hm?”

“I mean, you already know things about me. What did it matter if you knew my favourite colour?”

It was true that Mordred knew things about Morgana. He knew she was a Pendragon. He knew she was in her last year at university and was studying history and politics. He knew she was stubborn, sometimes even too stubborn to sleep if she had enough to do, and that she would forget to eat during exams unless Mordred brought food to her.

“I don’t know,” said Mordred. “I mean, I do know things about you, but I didn’t know until Friday that you liked dragonflies, or that you drink hot pink juice. I didn’t know the little things, and my aunt always says that the little things make us who we are.” He shrugged.

“That was incredibly cliché, Mordred,” Morgana teased.

“Oh, sod off,” Mordred muttered and, in an attempt to soothe his wounded ego, he popped the remaining jellybeans into his mouth.  


End file.
